


Given To Rot

by twixt_haw_and_thorne



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (well at least a satisfying ending), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood Kink, Bondage, Claude attempting to overthrow Rhea with the power of devils, Consensual Abuse, Contracts, Degradation, Demon Summoning, Demons, Devils, Edgeplay, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, Insult Kink, Knotting, M/M, Mild torture, Multi, Oral Knotting, Painplay, Praise Kink, Rough Sex, Rough fucking, Size Difference, Size Kink, Stomach Bulge, Tail Sex, Threesome - M/M/M, Throat Bulge, monstrous qualities, no beta we die like Glenn, some violence, strange demon anatomy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:40:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28164117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twixt_haw_and_thorne/pseuds/twixt_haw_and_thorne
Summary: Within the protected walls of Garreg Mach Monastery, the students of the Officers Academy are well-protected from the wickedness beyond its borders. Not even the Archbishop could suspect that devils were being summoned in the sacred space of faith and protection right under her nose. That is, of course, Claude’s plan. She won’t see it coming when he uses the demonic forces beyond the planes to overthrow her oppressive regime. But in the process of such egregious sinning, can Claude himself be spared? Or will his soul be given to rot?
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Claude von Riegan, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Linhardt von Hevring/Claude von Riegan, Sylvain Jose Gautier/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 8
Kudos: 66





	1. Sin in Symbols

**Author's Note:**

> Listen... I just wanna see Claude fucked by devils who happen to be Sylvain, Felix, and Dimitri, okay? XDDDD

  
  
  
  


The candle smoke twisted, a wicked dance in the room's unnatural pallor. The orange hue suffused an otherwise colorless room with light, imbued a dead heart with pulsing, squirming life once again, the promise of **_event_ ** when he passed through the walls of his days without impact, taking nothing, leaving nothing. He should be afraid, he reasoned. Any sane man would be. All the proper enchantments and protections were in place, as evidenced by the ink and blood staining his fingers, the runes which were the reason he still breathed.

A poster tacked on the right side of every dormitory room bore the smile of the Archbishop, the green eyes which guarded the students from evil, stood sentinel against the depravity Claude’s hands wrung from the tapestry of knowledge into the roots of what was real. She, that woman… she could not protect him from what she did not know. He'd worked so hard for this, and his heart hammered as a small, amorphous shape began to form, outlined in the middle of the circle of glyphs and wards.

The window glass shuddered in the pane and cracked, the doorknob rattled as if someone was trying to get in; but no one was coming in, not that way, and when the smoke settled and dispersed like a fog banished by the sun, Claude could see his truth awaiting him. A pale-skinned truth in the middle of a circle smudged by the shielding rug and repaired more than once by careful fingers. Chasing legends and leads, grasping at runes, he had been the relentless pursuer of the forbidden for months. His ravenous curiosity had served him well in the past and this happening, Claude was sure, would be no exception.

He leaned forward on his knees, the long pants of the church stifling his desire, eyes greener than the poster’s to get a better vantage. The similarity of the simulacrum, the sketchings in books, with long tapered horns of bone that jutted from ember-bright hair, the long claws that scarred the wood paneling of his floor; the resemblance was remarkable. He had succeeded like the authors of these runes, he had no doubt. Doubt would be absolutely _pointless_ at this moment, when the devil crawled from whatever hole led to the devil’s home in an abyss of torture or a sky full of fire, Claude didn’t know. The threshold had been crossed.

A limb that twitched with will curled around the devil’s shapely thigh and the drumming of blood to Claude’s ears went quiet, rushing to provide balance to his body before his legs gave way to the force of gravity that was dragging him into the circle; the circle, the only protection against his own nerves that suggested only that Claude lavish praise at the feet of this creature, lay himself bare before him.

There was only so much a drawing in a book could detail. The finer points of the devil's body were consumed by Claude's hungry eyes, but not by doomed hands. Seeing the devil in the flesh was worth every inch of trouble he'd gone through. Was worth every sin he had succumbed to.

 _"Incubus..."_ he breathed in the sudden stretch of silence.

The devil reached for the circle as soon as he emerged, all thirty of his digits stretched to capacity to feel the wayward summoner’s weaknesses. But even behind him, the tail that twisted around his leg could not find a single crack, a small break in the capsule that held him summoned and hostage. He hung in a stasis he despised, not knowing what waited on the other side of the smoke. Once it cleared, would there even be a soul waiting for him, eager to be extracted, or would it be unyielding and held fast to its body? It had been too long and he was hungry. He was too thin to be considered full, but no human mind would see him for what he was, no matter how sculpted.

Not his name, not even his gender, his arms, all four of them, reached towards the voice, sensing a stubbornness that was repulsive in the face of his need. _Incubus,_ they said, not understanding what he was for.

The smoke was only a veil which parted long before it would escape the confines of the room and under the door, alerting no one but the room’s inhabitants to the scheme that had taken place there. A human, it had been so long and the devil was more a slave to his whims than Claude could ever be (and still be alive). An incubus could give in to all their temptations and never die, but they could _hunger._

_Hunger._

Acting desperate might help free him, the devil thought, and he did so, his fingers, so thick and long, curling to fists and beating out his own heartbeat against the barrier of wards that separated him, his tongue, damp and twitching to curl around some throbbing piece of human flesh, dripping against the blood of the runes and yet unable to change them. He panted, his chest roiling with untamed breath as he slammed, trying to move the human to release him, drive him to turbulent distraction.

Were it not for Claude’s preparedness, it would have worked. Nerves jumping, Claude launched himself forward to obey, to free him. But though mankind would always claim wicked dealings from devils like this one, he had no bridle over Claude’s will. Not yet. Claude acted on his own, moved only by his own needs, to free someone who feared being caged, to touch someone who feared going untouched. Yet the clever tacks near the runes drove into Claude’s thumb and the cry of his blood fiercely coloring the circle only strengthened it.

And reminded the human of his own imminent danger.

He had already planned his death, and it was not tonight.

He could be cruel, but why? It would not steady him, and it would only breed resentment over what called for lasting partnership. Cooperation. “Calm down,” he instructed, wondering how dizzying the distance from the devil’s home to his must be to make the incubus act this way.

The devil slowed, but it was not immediate. Bratty, he could usually get what he wanted through tears and pleading, and he wasn’t wholly convinced that it wouldn’t work for certain, but this human seemed more ready for him than most. Not that he hadn’t encountered wily humans before, but he had a feeling a swift meal was out of the question. Finally, he sat back on his heels, peering around the dark room now that that smoke had cleared. He didn’t remember the last time he’d visited this realm, it had been that long. Humankind was forgetting the knowledge they used to rely on to summon creatures such as himself. Or choosing to forget, which was more likely.  
Claude released a steadying breath and mimicked the devil, following suit as he sat back on his own heels, the worn leather of his boots creasing under his weight. And there they sat for a moment, human and devil, staring at one another across a divide that was both so small and so incomprehensibly vast.

“Where am I?” the devil asked him and Claude felt the hair at the nape of his neck stand up under his shiver, gooseflesh appearing on his arms as the rich intonation rolled over him from beyond the invisible barrier.

To be honest, Claude didn’t know how to answer what the devil really wanted to know. But he was not about to give him any information anyway. He knew the devil was cunning, having lived thousands of years and taken, no doubt, thousands of souls for his own. Claude wasn’t about to take that risk. Any risk he couldn’t calculate to the exact was not worth his life.

Still, he smiled; he had every intention of being cooperative with his manners if not with his answers. “Relax, friend. There’s no danger.”

The devil snorted, breaking a bit of the spell of seduction, a threat poised to fall like the boards beneath the noose beneath Claude’s feet. The less of a spell, the better for Claude. “When you summon us,” the devil purred and that enchantment came searing right back into Claude’s flesh with every melodic tone, rich and slightly muddled, like he’d drunk too much, “There is _always_ danger for both us and yourself, human.”

Claude’s smile did not waver, nor did his will. “Perhaps I should have said no _immediate_ danger, then.”

“Hmph.”

“All I meant to say is,” Claude gave the devil his most amiable eyes, “I mean you no harm.”

It wasn’t that strange a thing for a human to say. Of _course_ they wanted to convince him that they meant no harm, and perhaps half the time they actually meant it. But the finite could not comprehend the infinite, and the devil was as infinite as they come. With misconception comes pain.

“Sure, kid.” The devil sat up a little straighter. “Aren’t you going to lower the barrier?” he asked, shaking his wild hair and flashing his teeth at him. Not quite a smile, not quite a grimace. “It won’t be much fun if I can’t get my hands on you.”

Again with the purring. Claude was infinitely grateful for the tack that pricked him out of his stupor. He pressed it a bit further into his palm, allowing it to break skin. The pain kept him alert. “I will,” he nodded, still smiling himself. “But first, you have to do something for me.”

“Oh?” Now adopting a stance more coy, the devil folded his legs on the scratchy rug and rested his elbow to knee, chin to hand. “I have a pretty good idea what you’re going to ask.”

Now it was Claude’s chance to look coy, and when opposite a devil, he’d take all the chances he could get. “Is that so?”

“Go ahead and ask, you’re _dying_ to know.”

Claude nodded. It was true, after all, and there was no point in concealing something that they were both already aware of. He didn’t need any unnecessary complications. “Will you tell me your name?”

The devil rolled his eyes, all three of them, even though he had professed to knowing the question beforehand. “Call me Sylvain,” he teased, biting teasingly at one claw, able to smell the effect it worked over on humans, even with the barrier. “I can see your books there, precious. But you won’t be getting my real name from me unless you earn it.”

Claude already knew that. “No need to make introductions unpleasant,” he chuckled. “Call me Claude.”

A jolt of excitement tore through what passed for veins in the devil’s body, sluggish, thick, saplike stuff. “Claude,” he repeated slowly, letting that jolt bounce away from his lips, a shiver of chilly disappointment replacing it. If he’d thought Claude was stupid enough to give him his true name right off the bat, well… he was to be discomfitted. “Hmph. Well then, what would you like, _Claude?”_ he tutted, feigning boredom as he traced the tip of his barbed tail across the runes. The knowledge was forbidden to enter his memory for any length of time, but he liked to live in the moment anyway.

“I’d like you to help me overthrow the current theocratic government.”

Sylvain’s tail stopped in place and he raised his eyes, unblinking. “Sounds fun, but that’s not the sort of thing you’d call _me_ for, honey.”

“Oh, I think it is,” Claude smiled back, getting to his feet and toying with the tack in his hand. Not for a moment did he take his eyes off the devil as he strode to the back of the admittedly small dorm. More like, when he tried to look away, both his caution and his desire worked in tandem to force his gaze to stay put. Claude was human, and no matter how clever or patient, he still felt that overwhelming drive to seize the devil and throw him across his bedsheets, but nearly equally as potent was the drive to sketch him. What shaped this masterpiece, what _made_ him? Well, Claude didn’t know if he’d ever find out, but he’d pursue all queries his mind would pose, even if they branched from the tree of knowledge in opposing directions.

“See, I’ve studied you,” he went on, removing a specific parchment from the disaster of a desk in the corner. “Not just your kind. _You.”_ He unrolled the fresh paper, showing a charcoal rubbing of a much more ancient document; the kind carved in stone. And there Sylvain was, unless all devils looked the same, and Claude knew for a fact they did not, _could_ not. Like humans, each devil was shaped to their purpose. Or purposed to their shape. “It was no accident that I called _you,_ Sylvain. I meant to.”

And that was the strangest thing of all. Because master summoners across every nation connected to his plane had tried to wrangle specific devils and only a handful had succeeded. There was no way this skinny _brat_ had managed it. He couldn’t be more than, what, twenty? And honestly, he appeared younger than that, too young to have spent lifetimes in the pursuit of knowledge like the dusty old men and women who usually called him here.

Sylvain’s eyes roved in unsettlingly different directions, the two of them across the rubbing, and the third on his brow fixed squarely on Claude’s smile. For a human, he looked humble. For a brat, he looked arrogant.

No point in lying about something like that, and honestly, he wasn’t ashamed of it. “That’s me,” he allowed, resting his chin in one of his many hands. “I have so many questions, I hardly know where to begin.”  
“That’s my line,” Claude laughed, rolling the rubbing back up carefully even though it inevitably ended up in a heap of other scrolls and books. His eyes were so alight now that Claude looked like a devil himself to Sylvain for a moment, certainly too unnerving to be human, anyway. “I hear you escaped a death by St. Macuil with just a game of chess.”

Sylvain was rather proud of that moment and prone to boasting, but there was too much at stake here, to not know the intentions of a mortal man. “Saint?” he repeated.

Claude nodded. “That’s part of the problem.” He’d had to prick himself so many times with the tack that his fingertips were becoming sore. But every bit of this, every drop of blood he’d spilled into resisting the devil and to carve out the runes was worth it. A small price to pay, really. “Devils haven’t been summoned in Fódlan for hundreds of years. Not since the time of Loog, King of Lions.” His smile returned. “I’d wager you know something about him as well, don’t you?”

Sylvain didn’t answer. _Damn,_ how much did this brat know about him? He was at a severe disadvantage. Humans were too insignificant to learn about just one, so the devil knew next to nothing about him, save what he could gather from his keen insight. “Anyway, people like Macuil have been glorified by the Church of Seiros. That’s where you are now, actually,” he gestured at the dorm.

“You summoned a devil… in a church.”

“No need to be scared,” Claude assured him. “Your presence is known only to me, and I’d prefer to keep it that way, as, I’m sure, would you.”

Sylvain shook his head, his horns swiping through the air like twin blades themselves. “You’re crazy.”

“No need to worry about that either,” Claude laughed, the first genuine sound Sylvain had heard him make so far. Or so the devil believed.

“Look,” Sylvain sighed, arranging his legs as comfortably as possible within such a small circle. He had to hug them loosely to his chest given the room’s size. If he stood, his horns would scrape the ceiling; without them, he had to be nearly eight feet tall. “I may be clever, but no one summons me to topple a _government,”_ he pointed out. “It sounds fun, it really does. And you seem… well… more obnoxious than most humans but at least like you’d be a riot. But I think you’re in over your head, so you should just dismiss me. You could get hurt, and I don’t make it a habit of taking souls from people like you.”

“People like me?” Claude stood in front of the barrier, his hand up as though he was about to release it. Sylvain’s nature made him interested in such a gesture, but at the same time, this human made him _tired._ He wasn’t sure his soul was worth how much work he wanted from him. “Didn’t even know souls were real, but we’ll circle back to that later…”

“Of course they are,” Sylvain laughed, a little incredulous that Claude managed to get this far into summoning a devil by essence without even fully believing in souls. “What do you think we get paid with?”

Claude shrugged. “Well, I always figured it must be blood. After all, early man wasn’t the smartest creature, so whatever they wrote down wasn’t always accurate. It took me almost four days to figure out that what they meant by ‘essence of witch’ was just cat hair.” He shrugged. “They were pretty sexist back then, just got lucky if they pulled cat hair off a woman’s dress… So I thought ‘soul’ might just mean ‘blood.’ The ritual surely calls for enough of it.”

“The point is,” Sylvain cut in smoothly. “You’re not worth it to me. Overthrowing a government takes a lot of time and work, and while I can probably help out a little bit, you’re better off summoning a more powerful devil to do your dirty work.”

After a moment of blinking silence in which they merely gazed at one another, Claude lowered his hand to his side and half turned away.

“It’s the cleanest work there is.”

“What’s that?”

“We’re long past the need to populate the world,” Claude shook his head, frowning now, the creases making him older, looking tired like a man long in his years would. “The only way to save ourselves is to improve the experience of human life. That’s the only _point_ anymore _.”_

Sylvain reopened his third eye to get a better look at Claude’s dimensions.

“I have seen people tear each other apart for many reasons,” Claude went on, and now the tack was so deeply into his thumb that thick blood dropped to the rune circle, strengthening it yet again. “I’d wager you have too, haven’t you? And for longer than I have. You probably think it’s just the squabble of lowly beasts, but I’m living proof that isn’t true. You’re not human. You don’t have to live among us. Even if you don’t have a choice, you’re not here for long… less than days of your own lifespan, isn’t that right?”

Sylvain crossed two of his arms over his chest. “Why should I care, then? If you’re trying to make a devil feel guilt, well… I have a feeling you already know that it’s pointless.”

Claude looked up at him, as if _finally_ having forgotten he was there. “Nothing is pointless. But either way, no, I’m not asking for your guilt, that wouldn’t help my situation.” He touched the barrier again, tracing the dispelling enchantment into the air with his bloody fingers. “I’m asking what it would take to procure your _willing_ services.”

“Well, you could give me your soul,” Sylvain drawled, his voice as flat as it could be with it still being a heartbreaking melody. “And in return, I’ll have sex with you a few dozen times if I feel like it. _That’s_ what I’m summoned for.”

Claude’s smile was tight now, even pained as he shook his head, but he continued what he was doing, a foolish gesture. He seemed to think he was going to find the heart of the devil’s loyalties by the time he was finished dispelling the barrier. “I’m afraid you probably wouldn’t have much fun with me,” he admitted. “I have very little experience to offer you. Isn’t there anything else you want?”

Hm. Odd. Normally such young men would only admit to that with extreme embarrassment, but Claude just seemed weary. Poor thing. Sylvain was willing to bet he didn’t have any experience at all. There was something about him that Sylvain’s third eye was incapable of revealing, yet another odd thing about him. Sylvain himself hadn’t been summoned in nearly four hundred years, and he knew that to be one of the more recent summonings. Humankind had divorced themselves from that knowledge and Sylvain could admit to a slight curiosity as to why. Five minutes in a room with this one and he could already admit to more knowledge on that end that he could return to his plane with.

Besides. His home had become a bit boring as of late. No matter how clever or how odd he was, Claude would probably fail to uphold his end of the bargain and Sylvain could just take his soul and be done with it anyway.

“I could just stall for time until you finish the unbinding,” Sylvain pointed out.

Claude nodded. “You could. But I trust you wouldn’t do anything untoward to me.”

Sylvain could not help but snort with laughter, an endearing sound to anyone who heard. Unfortunately it was only Claude in the dorm, in the hall, in the Church right now. “Why in hell would you trust me with that? Don’t you know anything about devils, brat?”

Claude continued his work steadily, ensuring the runes were perfect. “I don’t. You are only the second I have met.”

“Second?”

“But trust must be mutual,” Claude pointed out. “Or it is nothing but dependence.”

“And what exactly would make me trust _you!?”_ Sylvain barked, curling his lip from his teeth as he began to slam against the weakening barrier with his power, his frustration with this very one-sided conversation becoming apparent. He didn’t have to lift a finger to show his might. Claude could feel it, severing his reason from his physical movement. His hand faltered, but why would Sylvain want to stop him from freeing him? “You’re just a rotten kid with a rotten dream, like every other human crawling on this miserable plane!”

Claude swallowed as the overpowering scent of madness tried to tickle him out of his mind. He drove the tack back into his palm, but it didn’t work this time. He couldn’t even feel the pain.

“What do you want?” he gasped.

 _“Dismiss me!”_ Sylvain’s strength grew as Claude’s will faltered. The barrier relied on his blood, symbols, _and_ the ability of Claude to hold his ground, after all. “I _despise_ this plane and all of your kind!” Sylvain hissed. “I don’t want your filthy, rotten soul! What do you think I am summoned for? To be **_used!”_ **

Claude stumbled backwards and fell amongst piles of books, scattering paper like a violent snow. The barrier was intact, but only just as the devil began to use his arms and tail, battering against the wall of force again. The room was a weather all its own, wind ripping apart the posters and the sheets, tearing books from the shelves and ripping them apart. Claude’s hair whipped into his face, and then back, as if he’d be blown out of the church’s second-story window. No. _No._ Claude had worked too hard on this. Put everything into it. Every moment was devoted to it, every ounce of his lifeblood, every dream when he gazed up at the stars. His dreams were small, just as the devil claimed. His dreams were small, and that made them _possible._

With a snarl, he dragged himself upright under the oppressive force of the devil’s breath. It would take more than that to hold him down. He’d been through his own personal hell thrice over and worse. This was _nothing,_ he told himself, and it was.

“Be **_still!”_** he snapped, his voice louder than the wind and his will harder than the bone of the devil’s horns, and to his great amazement, a shudder was visible as it passed through Sylvain’s limbs. He was still, as ordered, looking at Claude in alarm.

“I’ve come too far for you to stop me here,” he calmed, brushing himself down from being thrown. “If you truly don’t want to help me, then I will dismiss you. But I would ask you to think, _please,_ of something that is within my power to grant. I need your help,” he confessed, imploring him. “And if I have to dismiss you, it will be a setback, but it will not stop me. I don’t want to _use_ you, I want to be of mutual benefit to one another because that’s all we can give to each other.”

Sylvain shook his head again. He knew that his own outburst had been misdirected. After all, every mortal before this one had lowered the barrier at once, thrown themselves at him, and made him feel filthy and soiled. It had nearly been ten minutes without being treated as a pile of pretty flesh, the longest record ever.

It was the presence of a soul that angered him. As it is written, it is true. Devils desire souls. Devils have none. That jealousy, that rotten bit of a devil’s body spread and infected like the living that eats the dead when a human was near.

“How long?” Sylvain grunted.

“One year,” Claude breathed, but his heart was taut as a bowstring. No promises had been made yet. “I already have a plan. It won’t take longer than that.”

“You sound pretty confident,” Sylvain sighed, rubbing his temples. He didn’t like exerting himself in anger. The soul was just out of reach and he had to stop looking at it or he’d lose himself again. His third eye sealed shut and stayed that way. “And then you will dismiss me, soul in my hand, I presume?”

“You may have a third of it.”

Sylvain turned narrowed eyes on him, just the two. “A _third?_ What kind of bargain is that for a whole year?”

Claude nodded. “I know it isn’t much. Can a soul even be divided? You were my first choice, but I have others in mind…”

“Two others, then?” Sylvain mused. This was a very self-destructive human indeed. It was clear he’d not make it to the end of the year, dividing his willpower three ways like that. “Souls can be divided, sure. It’s just a substance, like anything else.”

“We’ll have to come back to that,” Claude laughed again. “You have me curious.”

“Seems most things make you curious.” _Except what people usually summon me for._

“Thank you.”

“But that isn’t going to be enough for me.” Sylvain held his gaze, but Claude had long since left the tack in his pocket. He’d already nearly failed to withstand Sylvain’s power once, he knew it wouldn’t be of any use. Even now, as Claude waited for him to lay out his terms, his mind was racing faster than his blood could pump, instructing him: _take him suck him kiss his shoulders touch his horns feel his tail lick his lips bite his neck taste his tongue--_ “You’re going to have to keep me fed if I’m to exist on this plane.”

Claude had expected that. “You need other souls, then.”

Sylvain smirked. “No, brat, though it would be better than only getting a third. And any souls you want to give me, I’ll consider a bonus.” Claude made a mental note of that. He wanted Sylvain on his side. He wanted to be allies, if they couldn’t be friends. Claude wanted to trust those he had chosen to help him. “I’m talking about blood.”

That, Claude hadn’t expected. “I didn’t realize devils needed blood to survive.”

“Not much,” Sylvain offered. “A cup per one of your moon cycles should do. Or a drop a day will keep me healthy.”

“That’s reasonable,” Claude reached down to his side for the parchment he assumed upon which such a contract would be drawn. “Anything else?”

“Do you know what I am?”

“Ah, yes,” Claude looked up from reaching for a pen. “You’ll need to be sent back to your plane to feed as an incubus, then?”

Sylvain blinked, a bit dumbfounded. “Once I return to my plane, all of our contracts are void, you know that right?”

“Of course. But I know how to summon you again and we can make the same contract.”

“It’s a lot of effort,” Sylvain shrugged. “And the journey is taxing for me. No matter how much I feed, I’ll need more as soon as I get here. You could just… feed me yourself.”

Claude set the parchment down. “I told you already that you’d find me an uninteresting supply for your demand,” he chuckled. “Surely you don’t want someone as inexperienced as me?”

“Someone with a healthy curiosity who’s too cocky for his own good?” Sylvain laughed. “I don’t need experience, Claude. I’m experienced enough for the both of us.”

Claude hesitated for the first time. Sylvain got the feeling he didn’t often hesitate. What could he be thinking? Sylvain could peek, but no… one glimpse of his soul might drive him mad again.

“How often?” he asked, not concerned, but clearly uncertain to make that promise.

“Depends on what you give me.”

The corners of Claude’s mouth turned up, twitching with levity that Sylvain found oddly infectious. Everything about him was infectious. He couldn’t wait to tug that braid and make him wail. No way could someone turn him down. It had literally never been done. “That’s quite a devious answer,” he chuckled. “But very well. I accept… as long as your appetite doesn’t kill me.”

Sylvain rolled his eyes. “Probably won’t. Oh, you don’t need the paper, sweetheart. Exchanging blood is enough for me.”

Claude knew he could more easily control the intent of the terms on a written document, but if Sylvain was trusting him, he would do the same. His new world would not be built on lies.

The very moment the barrier was dispelled, Sylvain was upon him. Caught in the massive claws and long limbs of the incubus, Claude gasped as he was lifted from his dormitory floor and the searing touch of the devil’s tongue on his bloody hand brushed over his mind just as physically, rotting his resolve. He was barely aware when Sylvain bit into his own thumb and rubbed his wound over Claude’s lip. The acrid taste was somehow cloyingly sweet, twisting up Claude’s sensory information from what he could see of Sylvain’s pretty eyes and taste of his blood.

“Then,” the devil laughed simply as he licked his lips over Claude’s limp and trembling form. “I hope you don’t mind if I’m hungry _now.”_


	2. Pleasure in Patterns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude has to wonder what sex for an incubus is like. Sylvain wishes he knew how to make Claude shut up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: A little blood, very unsexy sex? Sorry, this got pretty cerebral, but don't worry, there will be GRATUITOUSLY sexy sex in the chapters to come, I promise.

Cradled in two arms tenderly was so different from this, Claude had to imagine; imagine, because he’d never been held tenderly by a person before. But how many could claim they had been so roughly compressed by four demonic arms at once, the pressure on his chest, the pressure of his breath so great that he could not hope to hold onto his will now? It was a lucky thing that the contract had been signed already, the exchange of blood made on eager lips, burning still on Claude’s and refusing to do anything but sizzle there like wet coals as the misnamed Sylvain turned his chin forcibly up towards the high ceiling of the church and devoured his tongue.

It was not a taste that Claude could think how he might describe, had he anyone to describe it to. It was more like synesthesia, in the vein of smelling a sight, tasting a feeling, that anything more conventional that one might write centuries of poetry for the mortals in their lives. And certainly, there were no poems about demons like this (at least, not any  _ true  _ ones), because those who might otherwise write them were too busy being squeezed dry by the demon to actually find the wherewithal to be writing down how they might feel  _ about _ squeezed dry by one.

Claude might be the first exception, not that his hands were steady enough to hold a pen at this moment. He blindly reached not for a pen but for absolution or a savior (for which, he wasn’t sure) as the four arms of the thing he had summoned found his breast. He wished he might have asked him not to ruin his clothing, not to rend them from his body like he had, but truthfully he didn’t wish anything right then, because in the arms of an incubus, no man could want for anything else than to continue existing where they were.

He reeled, surprised by how painful it was. He had thought, surely, that pain could not exist where pleasure did, but they were not so separate as humans liked to believe. To be sure, there were men and women who enjoyed being struck or bitten or manhandled during their seeking of pleasurable moments, but this was not the same. What made it painful was how incredibly gentle he was; for, once no real barriers of fabric existed between them, the skin of the demon was as soft as any fabric mortalkind could imagine, plush and yielding in only the best ways, in only the  _ right  _ ways. There would not be anything that Claude might find again that was the same, not even a human whose muscle he brushed, whose flesh he touched, making red what was not and making smooth by filling them with an electricity which changed the tempo of one’s blood flow.

Sylvain’s tail was curled about Claude’s naked leg and stroking the barbs so lightly over his thigh, a painful-sweet tickle that sent all of his breath out, even when he needed it the most, needed it so badly. The demon seemed to expand to every corner of the room in Claude’s eye, in his mind’s eye too, bigger and more dangerous than any wild beast, his eyes so amber, so watchful.

_ “Relax…” _

The ringing of this melody in Claude’s ear filled his body with something unnamed and unnameable as his back nearly circled before the demon’s chest, shoulders and hips the only touch left that Claude intended because it was too much, too  _ much  _ to be touched, to be beheld by something like Sylvain, to be scrutinized by eyes that could see into him for the soul that he so desired, the third of it that Claude had promised him. No one could ever look into him like that before this. No mortal could see through every single ward he erected and reminded him of his personhood, of that thing he ignored, which was that he was a man just as much as he styled himself a savior of mankind. He could not simply be an icon, an avatar of fate when held by these four arms, by this tail. He was only a beast, terrorized and trembling, seeking the safety, the darkness of a cave that he remembered from more than a decade ago. He longed to run and hide, but there was nowhere that third eye could not follow him, not even if he retreated into the den of his own mind, which used to be so safe, so secure.

It would be pointless to lie to a demon, tell him that he  _ was  _ relaxed because he was not. There was no way that would be possible. Even if his first moment of intimacy would be with a person like himself, there wouldn’t be a way to calm the nerves. Not the first time. All he could do was return a nod to him in an attempt to prove he could at least  _ try  _ to obey. He was sure it would be better if he could, if only he could find that path to solace and follow it, but he had spent so much time building up these necessary defenses that taking them down (and only for this moment) would take a lot of time. Next time might be easier, he didn’t know.

_ I’m just a man,  _ he told himself and he wasn’t despairing in it. He was trying to remind himself that he was already seen, that he didn’t have to expend his energy to hide, that he could let go of that rigid willpower for once, let go and  _ feel  _ on impulse like a beast, like the beast that mankind was deep down.

He had waited for the church to be empty before he had even attempted the summoning ritual, waited for them all to go to Bergliez territory to hold their so-called friendly rivalry. Playing at killing each other was deeply ingrained into humanity’s beasthood, but Claude would rather a calmer sport that did not simulate the fear of blood so well and had feigned illness to stay behind. It was not  _ so  _ empty; there were a few monks and knights left behind, but none so close in this vast place that would hear Claude scream.

The demon swallowed that scream with eagerness, both in not being caught and in getting fed, even if it wasn’t a soul. It was always better if they didn’t know what to expect because then he could do anything he wanted. “Sorry, too much?” he teased in a hiss; he didn’t actually have to ask. He knew it was. He could read pleasure and its limits therein as skillfully as one might read a fairytale meant for children; that is, he could see through the allegories, the analogies, to get at the marrow of its morality without effort.

To Claude, however, pleasure was as illegible to him as the face of a turncoat, smooth and uninterrupted by the wrinkles that would spell out their truths. He squirmed against the single claw that was buried inside of him, between his legs and scratching so light that he almost couldn’t feel the heat of the blood that trickled over his thigh. Almost. “O-obviously,” he whimpered, twisting his back to alleviate some of the pain. Sylvain knew. Just a small punishment for the equally painful summoning he’d been put through, that’s all. Now he would take it more seriously, hungry as Claude writhed in the fold of three of his arms.

“It’s been a while since I had a human, forgive me,” Sylvain lied, purring all the time. He could make himself smaller, he could transform himself to mimic a human body, he could be far more tolerable to someone so new and terrified but no. He didn’t want to. Not for Claude. Let him know the monsters he beguiled into the bed of his political coup. He did not shrink his claws now, he did not have to; he simply stopped thrusting so deep, relaxing the crook of his finger so that Claude slumped, shivering, over the demon’s hand, so thick and large as to be able to clasp Claude’s head like a doorknob and twist if he wanted to. But no third of a soul would come to him then and he wanted it, although he could (and had) fed himself on the lust of men until they perished before.

The souls of mankind fed demons in one way, but all demons had a secondary need, no less great than the first. For Sylvain, it was desire; it need not be sexual desire, but humans were so constantly thinking of it when they summoned him that it was the easiest sort to pull out of them. Even now, as Claude panted through the gritted teeth of his own pain, his thrill and the tinge of lust fed him. Sylvain inhaled the scent of growing want and relaxed a bit.

“As if you don’t know what I could handle,” Claude accused, but in such a friendly way that the demon was taken aback. He didn’t seem angry. Apparently, there was no point in lying to Claude either. “It’s okay. Just… don’t rip me open until the year is up, deal? At least not completely.”

The point of entry from the claw had not been pleasant, but now that the scratching was dispensed with, the stretch of it was quite so, the burn of exercising a new muscle and the hammering of Claude’s heart as he rested in the circle of his arms keeping him more alert than he ever had been. Alert and yet… relaxed. Sylvain seemed to be gentler now, that was all he could hope for, he knew. He hadn’t put anything into their contract about not getting hurt so that was on him. But, after all, he expected pain through a demon contract anyhow.

Sylvain fed as the mortal’s need grew greater, pressing his claw, nearly the girth of three human fingers, deeper into him, sliding in and sliding out sweetly, almost like an apology for the blood.

Claude had not known he would like this. Certainly, he knew an incubus could extract lust for him whether he liked it or not, but even if his body ached for it, he had not known his consciousness would cooperate, cohabitate side by side. Being held against another body, no matter how immense and strange that body was, it was kind to this young mortal who had never known the tenderness of skin upon skin, warmth upon warmth, and soon his breathing was less about panic and more about settling into the instinctual need for such a closeness.

Sylvain sat himself back on his floor (considering his bed was covered in books and not big enough for this form of him besides) and rested his chin on the mop of unruly curls that Claude bore, watching his strong, young body convulse and bare itself to being filled for the first time. It seemed Claude had never experimented with this. He had touched himself, surely, curled his lonely hand around himself when the nights were isolated and full of fire, but he’d never done this, which suited Sylvain just fine. He was not used to the lust of it yet, which meant more of a meal for him. He would not have to get too inventive, not tonight.

Claude was surrounded by him, dwarfed by the demon in the quiet as he raised his eyes to Sylvain’s, trying to see how he felt about this. He had not wanted to be used, but in this instance, it was he who used Claude to feed, so was he happy? Or at least satisfied with this arrangement? Unfortunately, he couldn’t look up far enough to see Sylvain’s face with his chin resting on his head. A disappointing thing, really, as Claude had thought it the most beautiful part of him to look at. But this was not about him, he was quick to remind himself. This was ensuring the health of an ally. Sylvain  _ needed  _ this to live here for a year.

The rub of Sylvain’s smooth claw, the stroking of Claude’s sensitive insides, it was becoming warm with arousal and not blood. Claude’s breathing was becoming shallow with thrill and not panic. He had to brace himself against the massive arms around him which completely supported his weight, trying not to thrash as Sylvain explored the previously unexplored. As easy as his breathing, noise was spilling from Claude now, not screaming, but moans thick and hoarse, thin and reedy whimpers too as his curls began to stick to the heat of his face, adhered by the beads of sweat which adorned his brow like some unsettled coronet. The slide had become easy, slippery and Claude  _ assumed  _ it was because of his blood, but it wasn’t. As a demon of desire, Sylvain was equipped to tend to those needs. The flesh of his hand dampened, excreting some warm substance that permeated the walls of Claude’s body, making the pain nothing but a memory as bliss consumed him instead.

“How beautiful you are,” Sylvain cooed to him as Claude began to do more than cooperate but contribute to his own pleasure, attempting to lift and lower his hips, rocking clumsily against the enormous claw within. He wasn’t lying, although he had before when saying such things to humans. Well, he was beautiful for a  _ human.  _ To be honest, he hadn’t gotten enough of a deep look into his soul to know how beautiful he might truly be, but at least on the surface, he was far more virtuous than others who would otherwise summon an incubus. Virtuous in a way that simply coordinated with his fellow mortals, accepted that nature of what was, rather than virtuous in some misguided form of extreme piety.

_ There’s no need to flatter,  _ Claude considered saying, but to be honest, he didn’t know if maybe that was part of the feeding process. In fact, it wasn’t. True, it could ease a little more lust from a man, but not enough to be worth lying like that. Sylvain looked upon him, the copper of his flesh, the thick curls of his chest and thighs, the handsome trim of a beard he kept and had to admit he’d seen plenty worse. Claude was strong, too. Sylvain had thought him to be thin, the scholarly sort, while he wore his clothing, but now that he was bare, he could see that he did not keep his body idle. His arms and legs in particular, corded with the muscle required to draw a longbow and to clamp over the wide back of a wyvern, were as handsome as the color of his eyes, bright with his cunning, glinting even when hazy in succumbing to the demon’s skill.

“I would return that compliment,” Claude huffed out, the air becoming so hot and difficult to strain through his lungs, “But you don’t seem to want… want me to look at you.”

Sylvain did not retract his claw but he did move him, jostling purposefully so that Claude was fully aware of his intrusion as he moved him about, turning him over, using one arm to prop up his back so Claude could continue to relax. The more aroused he was, the better Sylvain fed after all. “Most don’t care to face me while I pleasure them,” the demon nodded as he thus continued his ministrations, drinking in every wanton sigh and whine that Claude let slip. “They only want to see me if they are pretending to have the power to dominate me.”

Claude would never dare presume that he held any power over him; at least not any that they had not agreed upon by contract. “I like to see what’s coming,” he smiled, a little shaky as his cock curved heavily on his abdomen, dripping with unrestrained longing.

“It’ll be you,” Sylvain informed him with a smirk, reaching down with another enormous claw to stroke carefully over his cock, the cool surface stimulating enough to make Claude shiver with need.

Claude knew he was right and he was extremely grateful, even if Sylvain was just feeding from him. It certainly wasn’t taking away anything he needed to keep, just a bit of energy and he didn’t mind that since he wasn’t planning on going anywhere after this. He doubted he’d be able to walk anyway. But the way the demon said it still concerned him a bit. “Do… do you not?” he asked, brow furrowed as he tried to remember how to put together a simple question, a near-impossible feat while an incubus was rubbing his claws over  _ and  _ inside him.

“I can if you want,” Sylvain shrugged. “But it’s not the same as for you.”

That was admittedly disappointing. There was definitely something about the simple culmination of achieving release alongside someone else--or at least, the fantasy of it since Claude had never had such an experience. Not that he had any right to complain about that either. He managed to shake his head a little. “Do whatever you need to do,” he told him instead. “You don’t have to worry about my nee- **_eeds!”_ ** he suddenly cried, ruining the end of his sentence as the sudden pinch of his cock between two claws prevented a release that he had felt oncoming. He squirmed again, damp with sweat, gasping with pain.

“Listen.” Sylvain watched him writhe in discomfort, delighted to find that the restraint seemed to fill the air thick with lust. Good to know; Claude liked being denied. That made sense, given what he knew about him. “You  _ should  _ make your needs known, human. It helps me feed. The better you feel, the better the meal,” he added in a sort of amused sing-song, as if he had repeated that line often enough.

“I’m… I’m surprised you--you don’t already know what I need,” Claude finally forced through gritted teeth, trying not to beg to be allowed to come, even though he needed it greatly.

“Why would I bother wasting precious brainpower on what each human wants?” the demon scoffed, rolling two of his eyes. He didn’t let go, didn’t want this meal to be over so soon and, after putting all this work into summoning a demon, he doubted that Claude would have the energy to go a second round. “I mean, it’s easy for me to find out, yeah. But it would be even easier if you’d  _ tell  _ me.”

Claude now lay rigid in his massive hold, treating him to a tiny smirk, despite his pain. “Sorry, but I warned you, I’m inexperienced. Looks like you’ll have to do the work yourself.”

Sylvain narrowed his gaze, zeroing his irritation in on him. “You don’t have to put it like that, you little shit.” As if he didn’t know that already. That was the tricky bit with those who’d never experienced cooperative pleasure, he supposed. But it would be fine. It seemed this human was the type to like nearly anything under the right circumstances, and even though it was nearly impossible for a mortal to hurt him, it was definitely easy for them to make Sylvain feel ruined or humiliated. At least Claude wasn’t doing that.

“C-can you… let go?” Claude panted. The pain was beginning to edge on agony.

“Not if you’re gonna come.”

Claude swallowed. He wanted to ask why it mattered, but he supposed the demon just wanted to torment him a little bit for being summoned. What was fair was fair. He laid his head back against Sylvain’s cradling hand and nodded. “I can try to hold back,” he offered.

The incubus, used to dealing with those who demanded their own pleasure from him, demanded obedience, was relieved. “Well, you  _ do  _ seem to have some willpower to you,” he chuckled darkly, still squeezing but also stroking while doing so, watching the human wriggle and tighten his jaw. “I guess I’ll take pity on you for now.” He let go, but Claude seemed to be straining and held back from his release. He closed his eyes and tried to cool down a bit so he would last, but with the demon’s claw still curled up into his gut, pressing deep enough to pinch the paradise out of him, it was admittedly difficult.

“So you don’t feel any pleasure from this at all?” he breathed, struggling to sit up, his gaze falling down between the demon’s legs, where he had a human-shaped (but definitely not human- _ sized)  _ cock. Unlike Claude, though, he was not hard, did not appear to be aroused, was nothing but relaxed in that moment.

“I mean,” Sylvain shrugged, reaching down to rub the pad of his thumb over Claude’s tiny chest, stimulating every sensitive area at once, which seemed the ultimate test of his willpower as he struggled not to finish too early. The peak of his little nipples was almost  _ cute. _ “As much pleasure as you would get out of a meal, I guess.”

“I see.” Claude was  _ definitely _ disappointed.

“I told you, if you want, I can pant and moan while I fuck you,” the demon offered. “If that would make you feel better. I assure you, I can be very convincing.”

Claude knew that he no doubt could, but knowing it would be a lie would only make him feel somehow manipulative, like he was  _ forcing  _ the demon. He shook his head, his disappointment helping to manage his own desire. “It’s just surprising. I would have thought an incubus would like sex more than anything.”

“This isn’t sex to me,” Sylvain frowned, tossing his horned head proudly. “I enjoy sex just like anyone, but this isn’t what this is.”

Claude could not help but look down between his own legs where he was now leaking so copiously from the various sexual stimulations he was getting and had to wonder what else could be sex if not this. Hearing his silent question, Sylvain shook his head. “Don’t bother trying to figure it out, brat. Just lie back and enjoy so I can eat.” Maybe he  _ would  _ let him come just so he could get this over with. Answering all these questions made him exhausted, something he could only feel on this ugly mortal plane.

Claude relented; he, too, was tired, but his curiosity never rested. He shifted, wincing as he felt the claw, cool and smooth, drawing little patterns inside him, like Sylvain was drawing his own runes or writing down the memory of him, pressing upwards towards his stomach. Claude saw the taut skin of his belly move, bulge outwards the slightest bit, and the air spiked, heady and cloying with his lust. Getting a good lungful, Sylvain shifted, grinning as he continued what he was doing.

“I-in the coming year,” Claude managed to gasp out as Sylvain dragged the wetness of his finger in and out, thrusting shallowly and making certain to rotate his claw so Claude could feel him at absolutely every angle. “Do you… do you a-anticipate we’ll have that--?” Claude cut himself off sharply with a whine, a sound he’d never heard himself make before, not even in pain, as his head filled with the fog of beasthood once more, reaching the limits of his senses and casting his reason over the side so he could just feel the obscenity of it all, feel himself being quite literally finger-fucked by a demon nearly twice his size. Definitely not how he’d pictured his first time, not that he spent a lot of time picturing it.

“What, that kind of sex?” Sylvain leered down at him hungrily as he finally tipped Claude over, drinking in the bliss of his release on the air and filling himself full with it, letting it soothe the ache of merely existing in this world, the arduous journey of being ripped from his home and summoned to a human’s whims. “I’ve never been summoned for a whole human year,” he admitted. “But I find that unlikely.”

Although he considered this as he watched Claude begin to buck his hips up almost wildly against the demon’s hand, whimpering for all he was worth and not bothering to hold back his noise because there was no reason to; not anyone around to hear nor care, and no deep sense of pride that prevented him. His voice was delicious, Sylvain decided, nearly as delicious as the meal (and he’d had some absolutely  _ choice  _ meals), and he thought that if he’d ever actually lay with any human the way he might a demon, it might be this one.

With his tail, he carelessly swept Claude’s bed free of books, letting them clatter and awkwardly bend on the floor, finding that indeed, there was a mattress and a blanket beneath the mess. Claude made a noise of complaint, a noise he should not have been able to make after being fucked senseless by an incubus, but he didn’t actually  _ voice _ any of those complaints. Sylvain lay him down, slowly pulling himself free of his body (so greedy, the way it seemed to want to suck him back in) and regarded him while he lay there.

Claude felt somehow filthy. He was covered in his own release, from thigh to belly, drying blood as well, sweat clogging up his pores and crusting in his hair, tears that he hadn’t even noticed he’d shed were clinging to his jaw, and whatever had lubricated him besides blood stained his legs as well. A soreness had not yet set in, but he knew it would, and he lay still, still trying to catch his breath as he peered up at the demon through the haze of his post-orgasmic peak. He felt filthy, but not  _ dirty.  _ Not sinful or somehow permanently marked by the demon in some sort of wicked way.

The Church had spent a great deal of time since he enrolled here at the Academy trying to convince its pupils that demons were the consequence of evil in the world, of unfathomable darkness, and to consort with one even in a casual fashion was to injure the Goddess personally. But while this message was easily engraved on the gullible youths who’d spent their lives growing up here in Fódlan, Claude did not believe in sin. He did not believe in inherent wickedness. And so far, he had not seen or felt anything to indicate Sylvain was even the slightest bit cruel. He was just trying to make his way, like Claude.

He wished he could bathe, imagining nice, steaming water for his skin and his aches and the bruising he was sure to have, being handled by such an enormous being, but he was far too exhausted. He simply looked up at the demon. “That’s a shame,” he said finally, before he closed his eyes and was unconscious within moments. So, he was still thinking about Sylvain’s pleasure even in this moment of pure fatigue...

The demon sat back, shrinking himself down so that he could fold more comfortably in this tiny room. It was too small to hold his magnificence, unlike the grand chambers of Kings and Queens of old who had summoned him. But then, everything about this was strange. His tail flicked side to side in agitation. Why was he agitated when he looked at Claude? He found most if not all humans to be annoying, but there was something about the feeling this time that didn’t seem to be directed quite at Claude himself.

He really didn’t want to waste time analyzing it, but Claude was asleep, so what else was there to do? He looked around the room helplessly and felt a sudden surge of gratitude when his many eyes landed on a pretty wooden chess set. It was simply carved and polished, nothing as grandiose as Sylvain had seen in the past. But then, he’d never gotten to touch those sets made of heavy marble, because he was too busy receiving human lust and being the object of their misplaced obsessions.

It had been a long time since he’d played chess. As he set up the board, he cast one more look at the sleeping human on his bed, shivering in his rotten human dreams with the lack of the heat of Sylvain’s arms.

He opened his third eye again.

  
  



End file.
